Through aisles of long-drawn centuries my spirit walks in thought.

A friendship counting nearly forty years is the finest kind of shade-tree I know.

A father of the church said that property was theft, many centuries before Proudhon was born. Bourdaloue reaffirmed it. Montesquieu was the inventor of national workshops and of the theory that the state owed every man a living. Nay, was not the church herself the first organized democracy?

The nunneries of silent nooks, the murmured longing of the wood.

There is no bore we dread being left alone with so much as our own minds.

There is nothing so desperately monotonous as the sea, and I no longer wonder at the cruelty of pirates.

Such power there is in clear-eyed self-restraint.